Chapter Two #2
next set. Mother grins victoriously, and a few yards away Lady Tisend stands seething, glaring daggers at Mother.
Not that it’s Mother’s fault, really. Mr. Dean asked Catherine to dance after all.
Catherine’s grateful she remembers the steps to the minuet. There have already been multiple dances she’s never seen tonight.
It turns out Idless doesn’t get all the newest each season.
She focuses on her footwork for the first few minutes, making sure to smile at Mr. Dean, who smiles back, but offers nothing
by way of conversation as they twirl around each other. He’s handsome, and he seems perfectly nice from their brief interaction,
but he doesn’t seem particularly special.
The reaction to their dance is special, though. The whole room is focused in, whispering about them while they move up and down the line of dancers. Catherine
gets a glimpse of Lady Rosalie when they make it to the other end of the line. Her look of loathing rivals that of her mother’s,
and Catherine has to withhold a grin.
See how she likes it, having her dance stolen.
Bolstered by Lady Rosalie’s reaction, Catherine looks up at Mr. Dean as they join arms to skip down an aisle formed by the
two rows of dancers.
“Do you attend all of the balls, Mr. Dean?” Catherine asks.
“Most,” Mr. Dean says, smiling down at her. “I enjoy a good dance and a round of cards, and here I can have both.”
And then they break apart, returning to their sides of the dance aisle. She expects him to ask a question in return as they step forward and meet hands. But he doesn’t.
Then she expects him to ask a question when they meet in the middle to circle each other. And then when they join in the middle
to take each other’s hands, spinning around once before returning to their lines. But he doesn’t.
He doesn’t ask her even a single question for the rest of the dance. He just keeps smiling that bafflingly beautiful smile
at her.
Other couples are talking as they dance. Lady Rosalie’s friend in the yellow dress with the round face and Mr. Rile are talking
and laughing up a storm. They look like they’re having fun. She didn’t find Mr. Rile nearly as interesting as Lady Rosalie’s
friend seems to, nor does she find Mr. Dean as charming as everyone else.
He’s very polite. She ought to be flattered he gave her his first dance.
Maybe something’s wrong with her.
Then the dance ends and she’s curtsying to Mr. Dean, unsure of her next move. Does she try to bring him back to her mother?
Does she invite him to get drinks? She realizes with panic that she has no idea how to . . . keep a man’s interest. Hasn’t
ever wanted to.
“Mr. Dean.”
Well, it hardly matters, does it? Because Lady Tisend has found them. Mother’s glaring at her from the edge of the dance floor,
but Mr. Dean turns affably to bow to her.
“Lady Tisend, a pleasure as always. Have you met Miss Pine? She’s a most charming new addition to our circle.”
Lady Tisend’s eyes narrow just slightly while she gives Catherine a broad smile. If Catherine didn’t know better, it might seem genuine. But remembering her mother’s words makes Catherine see the calculation behind her eyes.
“A pleasure to meet you, Miss Pine. But I’m afraid I need to steal Mr. Dean away. I had promised to introduce him to several
of Lady Rosalie’s and my friends.”
“Of course,” Catherine says, helpless to come up with a way to make him stay.
Mr. Dean gives her a bow and another handsome smile, then offers Lady Tisend his arm. Catherine stands alone on the dance
floor for a moment before making her way back to her mother, trying hard not to feel the eyes of the entire room on her.
Was it a triumph to get Mr. Dean’s first dance? Or is it more embarrassing to have him stolen away by her competition’s mother?
“Lady Tisend was practically green with envy and Lady Rosalie looked ready to combust,” Mother says, tugging Catherine in
as soon as she’s within reach. “You’ll surely have his first dance at the next ball, and I believe we could even get a promenade
out of him if we were to run into him at the Pump Room. We’ll have to go each morning this week.”
Catherine looks over at Mother. Something pointed and intense has come over her face. It’s unsettling.
“Mama, I’m not sure I truly like him—”
“You’ll be the one marrying him by season’s end, mark my words.”
“What?” Catherine exclaims.
“We are going to make that woman pay,” Mother says, turning with a glint in her eye that’s cold and frenzied in a way Catherine
has never seen her mother look before.
“. . . By stealing her daughter’s suitor?”
“He hasn’t offered a ring yet. You’re every bit as lovely as her precious Lady Rosalie, and we’re going to make you a viscountess.”
Catherine just stares at her mother. “You want me to become a viscountess”—an absurd notion in its own right—“to get back
at Lady Tisend?”
She must hear how ridiculous this sounds.
“Not entirely, but it will be an enormous bonus,” Mother says, grinning at Catherine.
“I don’t think that’s a—”
But Mother takes her hand, squeezing too tightly. She’s trembling a little. “You’re going to have everything you could ever
want, and be the envy of the ton,” Mother says softly. “Wouldn’t that be grand?”
Catherine meets her eyes. She looks so animated. Ever since they arrived in Bath she’s seemed . . . anxious, strange. Now
Catherine supposes she knows why. But is this really the only way to help her gather her confidence?
And could she really do it, steal Lady Rosalie’s suitor? Find it in herself to play the marriage mart the way her mother wants
her to?
Mother loops her arm through Catherine’s, starting to rattle off a list of outings and activities they’ll have to arrange.
It seems an answer isn’t necessary; the decision’s been made.
Catherine stares out at the dancers, her stomach clenching with unease. Mr. Dean seems like a man of few words and meaningful
looks. She could grow to be interested in that, couldn’t she?
Cousin Louis steps up on Mother’s other side, looking as pleased as Mother.
It’s loud, and far too warm, and Catherine is suddenly rather exhausted.
She decides she can let Mother and Cousin Louis guide her around the room for the rest of the evening and make decisions later.
She can pretend at ease and comfort. Perhaps a few balls from now she’ll truly feel it.
But after an hour of harried scheming that seems to require none of her actual involvement, Catherine needs to escape. She
leaves Mother and Cousin Louis in the tearoom at a table with some of Cousin Louis’ acquaintances and heads to the cloakroom
with promises to hurry back.
Stepping inside is an immediate relief. The dark, green-velvet-lined room is quiet and empty. Catherine stands at the threshold,
looking around at the light green settees and the large vanity mirrors over the counter along the wall that abuts the water
closets. Candlelight flickers, casting everything in a warm glow. It makes her want to linger.
When she’s done with her business, she goes to return to the peaceful anteroom, planning to sit for a few minutes and gather
herself. But the water closet door won’t budge.
Catherine jiggles the handle, pushing on the heavy wooden door, painted green like the cloakroom. It doesn’t move. She puts
her shoulder into it, tries to shift the door side to side, up and down, to get it to unstick. Nothing works.
She leans against the door, blowing out a slow breath. Everything’s fine. This is not a dire portent of things to come. Another
woman will need the lavatory before the end of the night, and she’ll be rescued. The water closet isn’t that small. She’s
fine.
She presses her ear to the door, hearing nothing on the other side. Slumping, she rests there against the door, trying to
convince herself that this respite in the pungent water closet is just as good as sitting on one of the overstuffed settees
out in the cloakroom.
Thankfully, just as her sanguine attitude begins to crack, she hears the cloakroom door open. Moments later, someone tugs on the door from the other side.
“Oh goodness,” she hears through the door.
“If you pull, and I push, we can get it open,” Catherine calls hopefully.
There’s a short pause. “Are you stuck in there?”
“Terribly!”
“All right, three, two, one . . .”
Catherine pushes with all her might, and slowly, the door groans open, until it swings back into the cloakroom, and Catherine
goes tumbling into her rescuer.
It’s Lady Rosalie’s friend dressed in yellow. Her big blue eyes are wide with surprise as she helps Catherine stand back up.
There’s an uncomfortable moment, before the lady in yellow starts giggling. Catherine follows suit, and they stand in front
of the open door to the water closet laughing together, bright-cheeked.
“Thank you,” Catherine manages after a moment.
“Of course,” she says. “How dreadful to get stuck. We should tell someone about that.”
“Would have been an awful way to spend the whole ball,” Catherine agrees.
“Oh, gosh, yes,” the woman says. “Glad I found you.”
“Me too,” Catherine says genuinely. She may be Lady Rosalie’s friend, but she’s been a colossal help, and she seems sweet.
They can’t all be mercenary masterminds, right?
“I’m Miss Henrietta Raught,” the woman says.
“Miss Catherine Pine,” Catherine replies, ducking in a very belated curtsy.
Miss Raught sucks in a breath and curtsies herself. “We’ve been watching you. I mean—it’s nice to meet you, I haven’t seen you at the balls before,” she continues, her voice going a little meek, cheeks pinking further.
She steps backward and moves to stand in front of the mirrors, avoiding Catherine’s eyes. Catherine considers her. Lady Rosalie
was stealing dances for her all night. She may not have any part in Lady Rosalie’s schemes and might merely be the beneficiary.
She could be a wealth of information, and it wouldn’t hurt to try to befriend someone tonight. Surely Mother would approve